


Falling Like Feathers

by cellard00rs



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Romance, Smut, Wingfic, Wings, having wings is surprisingly difficult, hopefully fun and funny, sorry bout that, this rambles a bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:56:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellard00rs/pseuds/cellard00rs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Stiles has wings, Scott's busy, and the only person who can help is a Sourwolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set sometime in the future, when Stiles is about 18 (so, no age thing - yay!) I tried to be pretty ambiguous about what happens because I have no idea what's going to go down in Season 3 - I just did guesses on things I've heard about or think might happen. Considering how this is an on-going piece and probably won't get finished before the new episodes air, it's safe to probably view this as an AU. Also, as stated in the tags - this is my first foray into this fandom and it's a bit rambly, but hopefully is still a fun read. Enjoy!

There’s this saying; everyone is the hero of their own story. Or maybe it’s; everyone is the main character of their own story. Stiles isn’t sure which - he can’t quite remember - but regardless, he finds the idea behind it to be utter bullshit. Because he isn’t the hero and he sure as hell isn’t the main character. That title would go to Scott and really, he’s okay with that.

He likes to think of himself as the scene stealing supporting character. Not a sidekick, mind you, because sidekicks have a history of getting killed or maimed or other grisly fates in order to motivate the hero so, no thank you, he’ll pass there. But being a supporting character, that’s fine. There’s a whole slew of great supporting characters – like John Watson from Sherlock or Spock from Star Trek. Not to mention the multitude of great companions from Doctor Who. And what about Captain Jack Sparrow? Not the main character or the hero but he totally got his own film. 

So, yeah, okay – Stiles is totally fine with not being the center of attention (for the most part).

But sometimes the hero is off dealing with Allison or his-new-best friend Isaac (not bitter about that, no, not bitter at all) or his Dad or whatever else and Stiles finds that he has to step up whether he likes it or not. Case in point; Scott is off dealing with one or all of those things and Stiles is whiling away his hours at the Beacon Hills Fair because yes, they _are_ that small town that does that. That small town that has fairs and balls and whatever other silly event that someone cooked up to raise money for charity or for fun or to keep the local youths out of trouble.

He’s not sure which one this fair is for, but it’s decent enough, even if the mechanical rides look like they are a ‘Final Destination’ film waiting to happen. Seriously, he’s pretty sure that the make shift ferris wheel is held together with paperclips and chewing gum. But the snackage is worthwhile, seeing as he’s on his third pretzel and thinking about hitting up the cotton candy machine again.

And yes, the food got him a bit sidetracked and yes, he wandered a bit far. He’s somewhere off near the parking lot, off where it is dark and sketchy, so naturally he runs right smack dab into the middle of trouble. And, surprisingly, not of the supernatural variety. Which is a relief, really, because he’s had enough of werewolves and kanimas and Alpha Packs to last him a good long while. But the relief is short lived, because it _is_ still trouble and he _is_ still in the middle of it.

Three guys are surrounding some girl he’s never seen before and they are clearly harassing her. He can’t hear what they are saying but she keeps shaking her head and they keep growing closer to her. Nothing has become truly alarming or violent but it could go either way given enough time and there’s no way Stiles can just walk away. Especially not when the dark, teary eyes of the girl turn his way with the added combo of a lip quiver and damn! He really doesn’t have any choice, does he? Time to step in, do the right thing and at least try to be the hero.

“Hey!” His voice is loud but sort of cracks and he winces at it. However, he presses on, “We got a problem here?”

He’s going for tough but it sounds spectacularly lame and the three guys, all big and muscular and extremely intimidating, shoot him death glares that make him want to wilt. Still, in for a penny, “You guys mind letting the lady pass? She’s a friend of mine.”

The lie is so painfully obvious he immediately expects them to call him out on it but instead one of them, who apparently is not as much of a Neanderthal as he looks, straightens up, eyes flashing with recognition, “Aren’t you the Sherriff’s kid?”

“Yeeees.” This is drawn out because this answer could lead to a variety of different responses.

Amazingly it leads to the best one possible as the guy nods at the others then shoves the girl towards him, “No problem. Take her.”

The girl stumbles a little but is worse for wear and once upright practically sprints towards him. He licks his lips and haphazardly pats her arm to try and keep up the pretense of their knowing one another, “Yeah, thanks a lot, pal. Will do.”

He then shoves both of his hands into pockets of his jeans and starts walking away, the girl close to his side. It’s not until they’re far away from the parking lot and back into the thick of the Fair, surrounded by people that she speaks and – what’s more – throws her arms around his neck in a spectacular hug, “Oh thank you, thank you! You are savior!”

His hands are trapped, making this awkward, as he can’t return the hug so he falls back on merely saying, “Ah, it was no problem.”

“No-?” she draws back and looks at him with admiration, “You save my life!”

He knows he has to be blushing but he does his best to brush it off, “Nah, just…doing what I do. I’ve got a schedule to keep. Save damsels on Fridays, slay dragons on Saturdays, you know…the ush.”

She gives a warm laugh, “Not where I come from.”

“Yeah, noticed the accent. You’re from…?”

She shrugs, “Oh, small town, small country. You probably not hear of it. No matter any way. All that matter is your help. I am most grateful.”

“Well, you are also most welcome.” He says with a sheepish smile and she asks, “You walk me back to my father?”

He nods and they walk through the Fair side by side. She looks at him thoughtfully now and again before finally saying, “I am Nessa and you are-?”

“Stiles.”

“Ah, my valiant knight has good name. Strong name.”

And he knows the blush is back and worse than ever, “It’s alright.”

She looks searchingly around him, “Where your friends?”

“Ah, not here.”

“And your lover?”

Stiles trips over his own two feet. Really, he trips at that. So much so that he nearly plants himself face first into the dirt. It takes him a moment to recover, “My-my-?”

“A girl? A boy? Come, my English is bad, but not so bad. Your _lover_.” She stresses the word like he must have several and he clears his throat, avoiding her eyes, “I don’t-uh-I don’t have one?”

She looks appalled, “But you must! You cannot be here alone!”

“‘Fraid so.”

She suddenly dissolves into whatever her native language is – he thinks it might be Greek – and he’s pretty sure she’s cursing considering how upset she looks. Eventually she comes back to something he can understand, “This is no good!”

He shakes his head, “It’s fine. Honest. My friends are all just…busy. You know? They’re doing their own thing and I’m doing mine. It’s no big deal.”

“The deal is big!” she says this so vehemently that he can’t help but chuckle. She smiles as well but is still adamant, “You are my knight. Your friends should not leave you; they should pay attention to you. You should be the thing. And you should have lover as well!”

“Well, I’ll do my best to get on that.” He promises her because what else can he do? But she doesn’t seem satisfied, looking pensive as they reach a set of stalls. There are jewelry stalls and a fortune teller stall but somehow, sandwiched in between, is a tiny funnel cake stand and this is where she stops. The man behind the stand beams at her and speaks rapidly in the language she used earlier.

She speaks back just as rapidly then gestures to Stiles. The man looks at him in wonder then comes out from behind the stand and hugs him. Stiles’s hands are free this time but the hug is no less awkward as he still can’t hug back, the man’s thick arms around him like a vice. Eventually he pulls away and robustly slaps Stiles on the back, jabbering at him in his native tongue before disappearing behind the stall again. Nessa grins, “My father thanks you for what you have done. He has gone to fetch you gift.”

“That’s not necessary.” Stiles says, then on second thought adds; “Unless it’s a funnel cake, ‘cause I won’t say no to funnel cake.”

“Most likely, yes, cake is what he will offer but I should give you something as well. You save me, after all. You are my knight.”

“Look, Nessa, I’m not a knight. I’m not even a hero. I’m, just, you know…” he gestures up and down at himself but she shakes her head, “No. True. You are better. Angel, yes, angel.” 

He opens his mouth to argue against that title as well but Nessa’s father returns with what has to be the largest, most mouthwatering funnel cake Stiles has ever seen. It’s covered with powder and sliced fruit and chocolate and he can’t help the grabby hands of want he makes towards it. Nessa’s father laughs and hands it over and Stiles starts digging in, completely unaware of the fact that Nessa has disappeared. She returns just as he’s licking his fingers clean and before he can react she loops a necklace around him.

He looks down to see what appears to be a medallion and frowns, “Nessa, really, you can’t…”

“I can and I will. You take. Very valuable. In family for generations.”

“You should keep this.”

“No. I chose to give to you. You do not know what-what those men say to me, my angel. Had you not come…” she looks tearful again, “Please, you keep.”

He lets out a reluctant sigh, “Fine.”

She gives him such a dazzling smile that he can’t help but feel a little buoyed by it. Even when she enigmatically adds, “You see – friends see you now. You become…what was it? Their ‘thing’, yes? Busy with you now. Maybe even find lover.”

He holds the medallion up and inspects it. It’s a slim gold coin with a design stamped deep in its center. It looks like two women, their faces sides by side. His lips quirk to one side and he holds it up, “With this?”

She nods, “It brings balance. It brings out your inner light.”

Stiles grins, “Well, I have been told I have a spark.”

She kisses his cheek, he blushes, and they part ways. Stiles goes home - tired, a bit heroic and full of the yummy that is funnel cake. He’s goes to sleep without even bothering to take the medal off. 

 

+

 

Stiles wakes up in the weirdest position ever. It’s like both of his arms are jammed up underneath him but he knows that’s not true because he can blearily see that they rest on either side of him. Maybe he thrashed a bit – got his pillow or his blankets mashed up beneath him. He squirms and twists and falls out of bed only to feel…heavier. Particularly his back. Like, a heavy weight is resting right on his back, as if he has his backpack on. 

But as he stands up and stretches he realizes it is most certainly _not_ his backpack. Because he looks over one shoulder and sees feathers. Brown feathers. Lots and lots of brown feathers. Brown feathers lapping over and over one another. Brown feathers that run up and connect to wings because they form wings because _he has wings._

“Wh-? Wha-!” Stiles gapes at the wings as if they’re not there and then he sees them twitch. _Feels_ them twitch. As in he _made_ them twitch. He turns around in frantic circles, neck nearly snapping as his eyes are riveted to what is behind him on his back, _growing_ out of his back and he feels sick. Really, really sick.

He pants and falls to the floor and he’s positive he’s moments away from a panic attack when the wings…expand. And it feels like when he stretches out his arms but totally different and he stares at them in astonishment. Wings. There are wings on his back. _His_ back – as in _his_ wings. As in he has wings. 

And they just expanded. He thinks about moving them in and they…move in. It took conscious thought but somehow he knows they don’t need conscious thought to move. No more so than any of his other limbs – he can think about it, concentrate on making them do what they do but he doesn’t…have to. Still, when he stands up they involuntarily flex out and knock over a bunch of random items on his dresser.

He curses and turns only to knock something else over and this time, whatever it is, it’s loud and then he hears his father calling his name. Stiles freezes at the sound, “Oh no.”

He looks around his room, desperate, as the unmistakable noise of his father’s footsteps grows louder and closer. He grabs his comforter and tosses it around himself, tamping the wings down and he suddenly notices that the shirt he wore last night is on the floor, shredded beyond recognition. He grumbles, “I loved that shirt.”

His father knocks on his door, “Stiles? You in there?”

“Ah, yeah, Dad! Just a sec…” Stiles tugs the comforter as tightly around himself as possible, drawing the wings in as close as he can before opening the door a crack, just enough so he can see his father but not enough so that his father might notice the strange lumps on his back, “Hey, what’s up?”

“Not much. Heard a noise.”

“Oh, um, yeah. Just woke up and kind of sleepy. Clumsy, Sleepy clumsy. Knocked a few things over. Nothing’s broken. Promise!”

“Okay,” his father drags out in that way that indicates he’s yet again not sure what quite to make of him. He finally just shakes his head, “Well, I’m off to work. Make sure you spend some time outside today; I don’t want you spending your entire summer indoors. Do you some good to stretch your legs.”

As if in response his wings twitch, wanting to stretch themselves and he lets out the most awkward noise ever (possibly a squeak – he’s really worried it’s a squeak) but he’s unable to contain it because it just. Feels. So. _Weird_. He does his best to cover it with a deep, manly cough before giving his dad his best ‘I’m-totally-innocent’ smile, “Yeah, sure. Sounds great. Love the outdoors. Me and the outdoors? Like this.”

He crosses his fingers close together and holds them up. His dad sighs, looking concerned and oh no, concerned is never good, “Look, I know you and Scott have hit a bit of a rough patch lately-”

Stiles does his best not to flinch because this is so _not_ a conversation he wants to have but his dad presses on, “But college isn’t that far off and whatever…issues, you two are having, I’m sure they can be fixed if you just, ah, talk to one another.”

That would require Scott having time to talk and what with his werewolf problems, his girlfriend problems, his new-best-bud-Isaac problems, and his dad problems, Stiles is not so sure Scott has time to fit him in. But then again, Stiles currently has a rather big I’ve-grown- _freakin_ ’-wings problems so maybe now would be a good time for them to talk.

“Yeah, thanks. I know. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him.”

His dad nods and it looks like it’s hug time so Stiles goes for it as best as he can, trying to be nothing but arms and hands and, in particular, arms and hands that keep his dad from touching his back. It seems to work well enough, though he does get an odd look for his trouble. Not that he can blame the man – it was a super weird hug. More strange pats than anything. But once he’s back in the safety of his room, door closed, he tosses off the comforter and stretches the confounded things that have sprouted out of his back.

The wingspan is pretty impressive, almost as impressive as the wings themselves and Stiles can’t help but curl one near himself, grabbing at some of the feathers. He gives them a tug and winces because ‘ow’. Okay, so, they seem pretty firmly in place. Not fake, not something glued on, not something that is going to come off easily. 

He finds his phone and tries Scott. Naturally Scott doesn’t pick up. Stiles actually thinks about biting the phone, bringing it to his mouth, teeth ready to chow down on it like _he’s_ the werewolf because he’s so mad at the thing – or maybe at Scott. No, he’s not mad at Scott. Not really. He’s mad at the situation more than anything and he thinks about leaving a message but decides not to. What is he going to say? ‘Hey Scott, call me back when you can because I’ve apparently become Big Bird’? 

Granted, that would probably get him a call back but it’s not something he feels up to leaving. Besides, he does respect that Scott has a lot on his plate. It’s not like they haven’t talked about it and it’s not like they’re not still super best friends. It’s just been…busy. They’ve both been busy. Busy with their respective things busy. 

But who else is there to call? Lydia? Danny? Deaton would probably be the best person to contact but if you want to talk about people who have been busy and have had a lot on their plate, Deaton is certainly one of them. Still, he’s the next best choice so Stiles gives it a try. Again no answer. Great. Wonderful. Now what?

Stiles eyes his computer and goes to sit down and do some research of his own only to discover that, yeah – wings and sitting down? No dice. The big, stupid things don’t fold in well enough for him to take a proper seat – pushing him up awkwardly and sometimes getting stuck _under_ him and again ‘ow’. This has to be what it’s like for people with ridiculously long hair when they accidently sit on it - the same strain and pull. How did Rapunzel ever manage? 

Stiles finally decides to just push the chair out of the way and get on his knees in front of it, typing away. He searches the Bestiary but there’s nothing promising there as technically he’s not a monster (as far as he knows) and even if that was the case, there are no monsters listed with having feather wings. Leather wings – yes. Slimy wings – yes. Wings made of fire - ye, gods - yes and scary, scary – underline on SCARY and he sure hopes those are extinct because no, just…no. But feather wings?

Yeah, not so much.

He scratches the back of his neck and the palm of his hand comes into contact with a length of chain around his neck. His eyes widen and he looks down to see the medallion resting on his chest. Of course! He quickly pulls it off and turns it this way and that. There appears to be nothing exceedingly special about it but he knows that it has to be the culprit. After all, he had no wings yesterday before he wore this thing and now overnight…

He has to get in touch with Nessa. This was her medallion, her ‘gift’ to him, so she had to have known this would happen, right? And by the way? So not the best way to repay someone for helping you! He would have preferred cash or check. Or another funnel cake. Or anything but this. He makes some more calls, this time to people involved in organizing the fair because there has to be someone who can get in contact with Nessa or her father.

After all, it’s only Saturday – the fair has two more days to go. But he finds himself speaking in circles – everyone passing the buck on to everyone else and at this rate the best way to get any answers would be to just go there himself. But how? He can’t just walk down the street this way. Maybe he could fly? And that thought leads him directly into laughter. The kind of hysterical laughter that he is afraid might not ever end.

He runs his hands through his hair and takes deep breath. He has to get a hold of himself. Stiles Stilinski is many things but he is _not_ a quitter. Nor is he an angel, wings aside. There has to be some way he can get to the fair or someone he can contact who can help and oh, no, no, no – his mind snaps at him as he realizes that there is indeed someone he could try. Someone who could help…maybe, possibly…it’s hard to say because, well, okay - they don’t exactly hate each other but they’re not exactly, strictly speaking _close._ They’re…allies? Sort of? Honestly, Stiles has no idea how to describe their relationship and right, relationship is a strong word, isn’t it? 

“Christ…” he mutters under his breath because the last person he wants to call, the last person on earth who he wants to see him like this, is Derek-freakin’-Hale. But what other choice does he have? He picks up his phone and sighs heavily before dialing the number. 

He’s probably worrying about nothing. No way _Derek_ picks up. If Scott didn’t pick up, Derek won’t. Hell, Derek probably sees that Stiles is calling and is refusing to pick up on principle. 

“What do you want?”

Dammit.

Why won’t life give him a break?

“Ahhh-yeeeah. H-hey, Derek, hey…um…I was-I was wondering if you could maybe help me out? Give me a hand or give me a paw or-”

“Stiles, I’m five seconds away from hanging up.”

“Right! Well, see, here’s the thing,” Stiles licks his lips and squeezes his eyes tightly shut, deciding the best course of action is honesty. Fast spoken honesty, “ _IkindofhavewingsnowandIneedyourhelp_.”

There’s a long pause and Stiles lets out a huff because he said all that in one breath. Derek probably didn’t understand him. Stiles barely understood what he just said. It was all blurted out word vomit and his face and neck feel hot. He tries to tamp down his embarrassment as he speaks again, “Derek? Did-did you catch any of that?”

His answer is a loud thump outside his window and Stiles curses, practically jumping out of his skin, on his feet in a hot second, wings nervously flapping and yeah – _that_ feels odd. The window is open, so naturally Derek just lets himself in like that’s completely normal and something he does all the time which, to his defense, is kind of true. He takes one look at Stiles in all his winged glory and for the first time Stiles can remember Derek’s ever present stoic expression breaks slightly, his dark, thick eyebrows rising in surprise. Stiles crosses his arms over his chest because, yeah – shirtless– and says, “I take it you understood me then?”

“No,” Derek returns simply, eyes still on his wings, “But I was nearby.”

“So you decided to just come in and check? How did you even know I was-? Never mind, I take it you smelled me or heard my heartbeat or something wolfy like that. Doesn’t matter. What matters is, you know…” Stiles gestures to his wings and they rise as if knowing they are the subject of conversation.

Derek walks around him and Stiles tries not to fidget as he is inspected from top to bottom. Derek stops behind him and Stiles can feel hot breath on the back of his neck. He tries to order his body not to break out into goose bumps and fails miserably. Especially when Derek speaks, voice a low rumble, “Can you move them?”

Stiles’s lips twitch from side to side, expression caught somewhere between misery and a scowl. He rolls his head about his neck before performing the requested action. His wings spread out just as easily as if he was holding his arms wide open. Derek continues to inspect them and Stiles can see him raise one hand out of the corner of his eyes. The hand floats just above his right wing but doesn’t touch and Stiles loudly breathes in through his nose, “You can…” this is so embarrassing he just wants to _die_ , “You can touch one. If you-if you want...”

Derek’s fingers gently brush just the outside of some of the feathers and Stiles’s wings instinctively draw in, a shiver shooting straight down his spine, a burst of heat blossoming right in the center of his body, cheeks red, his mind instantly clattering with the combined exclamations of ‘Shit’! and ‘Wow’! Because that probably shouldn’t feel anywhere near as _good_ as it does. And it does feel good. So, so good. And he barely touched him at all.

Not to mention it feels extremely…intimate.

Stiles coughs and rubs at his arms but Derek doesn’t seem to take the hint, continuing his perusal, hand reaching out once more to stroke very lightly along the full length of – god, what part of his wing is that? He should really look up the anatomy of a bird’s wing, assuming his wings are similar to that of a bird’s. He doesn’t think he’ll find much source material on angel’s wings but then again he has a _werewolf_ touching him right now, so, really – he should be more open minded about anything existing at this point.

Derek comes even closer if that’s possible and Stiles does his best not to fidget because the breath on the back of his neck is stronger than ever and he’s pretty sure that Derek’s mouth is inches away from his skin and it’s…uncomfortable? Uncomfortable is the word for it, right? And then he’s pretty sure Derek is…sniffing him. Sniffing his neck and then his wings and then Derek draws some of the feathers close, practically buries his nose in them and the sound that escapes Stiles’s throat is humiliating.

It’s like a whine. Or a whimper. Or a maybe a – no, you know what? No. He refuses to analyze what it sounds like! It’s just a sound - a stupid one at that - and just as Stiles turns to face Derek to tell him to knock it off he catches a glimpse of Derek’s expression and, okay, he must have imagined what he just saw. Because for a split second Derek looks…sort of …well…dopey.

Like - blissed out, heavy-eye lidded, _smiling_ dopey.

But, again, must be his imagination because Derek is looking at him now with his normal, constipated, tight lipped growly face as he asks, “What happened?”

Stiles tells him the story of helping Nessa out and how she gave him the necklace and how she called him her ‘angel’. He also tosses out how good the funnel cake was, because it was damned good. Derek doesn’t react to any of it, hands buried deep in the pockets of his leather jacket, face a blank mask but Stiles knows him well enough now to recognize this as his ‘thinking’ face. 

When he speaks he’s using his in-charge, Alpha voice, “Did you call Scott?”

“Uh, duh! Of course, I did! First person I called! He didn’t answer.” Stiles does his best not to sound dejected about that, “I also tried Deaton but no luck there either. Hence you’re being here. I need someone to try to get ahold of Nessa or her father. I’d go, but for all I know Colonel Sanders is outside just waiting to deep fry my ass!”

Derek looks at him wryly and Stiles groans, “Not my best joke, but seriously, give me a break! I’ve got a lot on my plate. Or my back. Or whatever. Wings, man! I’ve got wings! And Nessa has to be the answer. No way is all of this just some coincidence. And here,” he hands Derek the medallion, “You should take this to her too, see if maybe she needs to – I don’t know, enchant it or something to make these go away.”

Derek nods, more to himself than to Stiles as he heads back to the window, prepared to head out when Stiles rushes up to him, “Oh, hey! Wait! Wait!”

Derek is half out and looks at Stiles expectantly. Stiles swallows thickly, “Look, um…just…thank you. You know? For-for doing this. For helping me. I know we’re not…not…”

“Not what?”

Stiles licks his lips and tries to think of what to say. He doesn’t want to say not friends because that doesn’t seem right but then again, Derek doesn’t have to do this, doesn’t have to help him, and frankly – while he doesn’t think Derek _hates_ him he does think that maybe he’s just tolerated. He’s not Scott. He’s not a wolf and while he hates to say it and thinks it sounds incredibly lame, he sheepishly replies with, “Not pack? I mean…I’m…not a wolf, so-”

“You are pack.” Derek says firmly before disappearing. Stiles eyes widen at that and as he lets Derek’s words sink in he tries (and fails) not to smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles has come to a conclusion.

Having wings sucks.

Like – really, really, _really_ sucks.

Though, honestly, sucks isn’t a strong enough word. But then, there are no words strong enough for how much having wings sucks. So, sucks it is! And it does. Suck. It does, because wings? Yeah, they totally get stuck in _everything_.

Doors, cabinets, under his feet – and, okay, maybe they didn’t get stuck under his feet but he feels like they must have at one point because he tripped. Or maybe that was just his own two feet, which isn’t an uncommon occurrence, he trips over them all the time but still…

Whoever thought angels should have wings?

Stiles personally wants to find that person and punch them in the throat. He doesn’t care how he gets to them – TARDIS, Delorean- whatever mode of time travel transportation he has to take, he’ll take it, so he can find the genius who thought the idea of a person with wings was a great idea. He’ll find that guy or that girl and just, just…

Oh, and when they get stuck? It _hurts_. Again, he imagines it’s what it must be like to have really long hair and how do wrestlers and metal band guys deal? Though the analogy isn’t perfect because the wings are more like limbs than anything else in how they feel on him and how they move and Stiles already has enough trouble with the limbs he originally had, see: tripping over his own two feet!

And then there’s the fact that he can’t put on a friggin’ shirt because no shirt has holes for the huge protrusions sticking out from his shoulder blades. Hence his finally deciding to call Lydia, because if anyone can help with that, he imagines Lydia can.

The doorbell rings and he goes to the front door cautiously. The last thing he needs to do is open the door to find one of those Duck Dynasty hunters on the other side announcing that it’s Stiles Season. He peeks out to see strawberry blonde hair, creamy skin, and the utter majesty that is Lydia Martin and yes, okay, he’s pretty much given up on the dream that they’re going to get married, have two point five kids and a white picket fence but that doesn’t mean he still can’t admire her as the pinnacle of female perfection.

He opens the door and she charges right in, heels clicking loudly, two bags on either arm, “You should have called me first.”

Stiles opens his mouth to respond but she continues, “Shut the door. Don’t need any nosy neighbors catching sight of your predicament.”

He does as she commands and she gestures around, “Is there somewhere in this house we can go where I can see these things properly?”

Again, he immediately obeys, taking her to the kitchen because the light is good in there and while it’s not the biggest space, it still has the least objects he can knock into. Once there she finally gets a good look at the wings and she reacts pretty much the same way Derek did, eyebrows rising slightly, “So, you weren’t lying. You actually have wings.”

“Why would I lie about this?”

Lydia shrugs, “Wouldn’t be the first time someone brought me to their home under false pretenses.”

“You know me better than that!”

“Do I? Have we so quickly forgotten how long everyone kept me in the dark about _werewolves_?”

Stiles sighs, “That wasn’t _my_ decision.”

“No, but I still retain the right to give you and everyone else involved a hard time about. However, seeing as I am now in the supernatural loop and, let’s face, leagues ahead of everyone else in regards to handling these matters, you should have called me first.”

“How do you know I _didn’t_ call you first?”

“Because you were calm and collected when we spoke on the phone and when these things initially start you are usually miles away from calm and collected. My guess is you spoke with Scott first and I seriously doubt he’ll be able to help you like I can, sweet as he may be.”

“I did call him first but I didn’t get ahold of him. Or Deaton.”

She glares at him, “You called _two_ people before me?”

“Three. I, uh, called Derek?”

Lydia relaxes considerably, “Oh, that’s fine.”

“That’s fine? I can’t call Scott or Deaton before you but Derek is-”

“Naturally he answered your distress call…” she prompts him and he recognizes that that was not a question and he really wants to ask _why_ that was not a question but Lydia has that look on her face that says it would be unwise for him to deviate from their current line of conversation so he continues.

“Derek picked up and he came over and looked at my, uh-you know,” he waves at his wings, “And I told him what happened, same as you, about the girl and the fair and the necklace and he went to go see if he could find her, seeing as I can’t leave the house because, again…” he gestures to his wings once more.

Lydia nods to herself and then addresses her bags, pulling out a variety of shirts and tailoring equipment before turning back to him, “Spread your wings, please.”

She says it so simply as if it is completely normal, as if he’s always had wings, and for the strangest reason he finds that comforting. She walks around him with measuring tape, brushing against his feathers now and again and while he shivers it doesn’t feel anything like it did when Derek was investigating them. He’s not sure he wants to analyze why that is any more than he wants to know why Derek would answer his ‘distress’ call without question. Except, yeah, he does want to know because he’s incurably curious like that.

He would try to ask but Lydia’s face is set and determined and when she finally draws away she looks slightly nonplussed, “Not sure if any of my original designs are going to work. I had hoped they would be smaller.”

Stiles snorts ruefully, “You and me both.”

“But I can still manage something.” She pulls out the shirts and he notices that they are in his size. Like, perfectly in his size and yet again he’s reminded why Lydia is a force to be reckoned with. She can take one look at you and measure you both literally and figuratively. Whatever field she decides to go into she will dominate it, no question. 

She shears two perfect lines on the back of each shirt, then takes one dark, black V-necked one and unceremoniously starts tugging it over Stiles' head. He helps her as best as he can, all uncoordinated limbs (and wings) and all but eventually they manage to get it on. It feels sort of weird, the back open and flapping like a hospital gown but it’s better than being half naked and Lydia nods to herself, “Crude, but it will do.”

“Thanks.”

She gives a noncommittal hum and starts putting her equipment away. Stiles scratches at the back of his head as the myriad of questions from before return to roll through his mind. Lydia is, without a doubt, one of the smartest people he knows, so it can’t hurt to ask her a few things and just as he’s about to do so she beats him to the punch.

“You’ve got questions.”

He blinks. Sometimes she is downright scary, “Yeah, actually…”

She turns to him, arms folded across her chest and for a split second he is reminded starkly of a fantasy he had about her once where she was strict school teacher. It makes his whole body flush but whether she notices or not, she doesn’t comment, “Go on.”

“Do you…ah. Do you have any idea why I ended up this way?”

“No clue.”

He can’t help the huff of indignation that escapes him, “Thought you said you were leagues better at handling these matters.”

“I am,” she returns sharply, “Contrary to popular belief; I do not wilt at the first sign of something supernatural-”

He immediately tries to pacify her, “I never said-”

Her voice rises, overriding his as if he had not spoken, “-I am more than capable of facing it head on, confronting it, and rising above it.”

“Lydia,” Stiles interjects firmly, “I know that. Trust me. I know that more than anybody.”

She looks at him and gives a curt nod and he knows that, just like everyone else, she’s had a lot going on. She tosses some of her (glorious) hair over one shoulder, voice much softer, “That said…I don’t know why this happened to you. Obviously it connects with the girl and, had you called me first, I would have been more than happy to help solve the mystery for you. However, you were able to get ahold of Derek which is far more suitable. I’m sure he’ll get the answers you need.”

“How are you so sure?”

Lydia’s eyes narrow as she looks at him and he realizes that she is assessing him. He has no idea on earth why. But he recognizes the expression on her face. It’s as if she’s calculating what exactly to say and how to say it and eventually she just shakes her head and lets out a gentle laugh, “And people said _I_ was oblivious…”

“Oblivious?”

“About you,” she mutters then, looking him in the eyes, says quite clearly, “Look, for one thing, Derek doesn’t have much else to do. I don’t think you and Scott ever think about that, ever recognize it.”

“But you do?”

She shrugs, “I know what it’s like to be lonely.”

And suddenly Stiles’s heart is breaking and it must show on his face because she immediately holds up a hand, “Calm down. I’m not lonely now. I’m pretty damn near spectacular now, thank you very much. But that doesn’t mean I’m not observant. You, on the other hand…”

“Hey!” he objects, “I’m observant!”

She raises an eyebrow at him and, just to validate that point, he says, “You said ‘for one thing’ earlier as in there is more than one thing. Y’know. In regards to Derek and me and Derek helping me so-so what’s the other thing?”

“Who says there’s just one?”

Stiles head rears back at that and Lydia gives him almost a pitying glance as she walks over and pats his cheek gently, “It’s not for me to say. Okay? But you’ll figure it out. You’re a smart guy. Not as smart as me, but…”

He rolls his eyes and she laughs and he can’t help but feel good. There was, after all, a reason he secretly adored her for so long. He still does adore her, even if now it’s more of a friendship thing instead of a ‘till-death-do-us-part thing. Though if she _did_ want to get married tomorrow…

“Any other questions?”

Stiles suddenly remembers something and feels a bit awkward asking but decides to just go for it, “Yeah, actually. Um…when Derek was looking at my wings he was sort of…sniffy. He was really sniffy. Like, he was smelling them a lot…”

“So?” she asks this as if it’s a moot point and he gets that because, of course, Derek is a werewolf and werewolves have heightened senses and yeah, he knows that, but…

“…he…when he was smelling them he…made this face. It was a weird face. I mean, I could have imagined the face but I don’t think I imagined it. The face, I mean.”

She’s starting to look impatient so Stiles barrels on, “He looked…dopey.”

“Your point?”

“My point is that Derek only has two facial expressions that I know of. Angry and super angry. I’ve never seen him look…” he trails off and jumps to the real question he wants to ask, “I just…I was wondering if-if maybe you’d…you’d check it out…”

Lydia’s face is priceless, “You want me to _smell_ your wings?”

“Yes.” This comes out far more high-pitched than Stiles would like so he clears his throat and tries again, “Yes. I know how it sounds, trust me, but if you could just...and-and the feathers in particular…”

“You know I am not, in fact, a werewolf.”

Her tone indicates that she does, in fact, think he is an idiot. And he does feel like one for asking. After all, she’s right; she’s not a werewolf, so her sense of smell isn’t going to be anywhere near as acute. It makes sense that Derek would smell them. Scott probably would have done the same. Still, he presses on, “I know, I know. I’m just…wondering if-if…”

She lets out a loud breath and strides towards him with purpose. She gestures to the wing closest to her and he lifts it up until she can bring one of the primary feathers towards her face. She inhales deeply and then there it is! He points at her in triumph, “Ah hah! Yes! See! You did it too! You made the dopey face!”

The look she shoots him is withering and he immediately recants that, “Not dopey! No, no, no – not on you! On _Derek_ it was dopey. On you, it looked-you looked, you know…bewitched. Like, you were captivated. Not by me! But -”

“Stop.” She intones and he mouths a ‘thank you’.

Lydia walks around him, eyeing the wings with more interest than ever before and stops behind him, right out of his field of vision. 

“H-Hey…what are you doing back ther-YEOW!” He cries out sharply as a quick, sudden pain lances through him. She walks back around to face him and holds up one feather. Stiles looks at it in horror, “Did-did you just-?”

Lydia waves it before him, “Don’t get your wings all tangled up. This one was practically falling off. It’s no different than pulling a single strand of hair from your head.”

“Um, yes it is! It hurt _way_ more than having some hair pulled out!” This isn’t entirely true but Stiles doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of being right. After all, she just assaulted him. His wings twitch in towards him protectively and he runs his hands along them comfortingly, “Am I bleeding?”

She shakes her head, “Trust me; I wouldn’t have done it if I thought it would seriously hurt you. Again, this one was going to fall off. You might be molting.”

The abject horror on his face merely makes her smirk, even more so when he starts fretting over his wings worse than ever and she lightly slaps his shoulder, “Come on, I’m just joking! Now stop preening and smell this.”

She hands him the feather and he feels sort of creepy about smelling one of his own feathers. But then again, is it anymore creepy than asking someone else to do it? Again, why is his life so hard? He brings the feather under his nose and takes in a deep breath. A pleasant warmth rolls through him and he can’t help but smile dreamily. 

Lydia’s eyes are fixed on him, “Well? What does it smell like?”

Stiles can’t describe it. It’s like cinnamon and sugar and sunlight or – no, maybe not – maybe something more spicy or clean or…a thousand different ideas come to him, all nice scents but none that really classify it correctly and he can only answer with, “Pretty…”

“Pretty?”

Stiles blinks and drops the feather and knows instantly that his skin is taking on that blotchy red color it takes when he’s blushing, “I meant…”

Lydia doesn’t seem concerned by his embarrassment, “That’s what I thought.”

“What you-?”

She picks up the feather he dropped and eyes it curiously, “Pheromones.”

“Pheromones?” he repeats dully and she nods, “Specifically sexual ones.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…you’re saying I-what? Have _sex_ wings!” This isn’t a question so much as an exclamation of disbelief.

Yet again, Lydia is unfazed, “Won’t know for sure until I run some tests. I suppose I can find some time to do that for you.”

“I…thank you?” He says because he doesn’t know what else _to_ say. His feathers, apparently, are sex central. What do you say about that? As if having the wings themselves wasn’t bad enough…

“Problem?”

“No. Yes. I mean…I don’t know. I’m thinking about three million things at once.”

“In a situation like this, I would think that’s natural.”

Stiles makes a sound like he’s choking, “Natural? There’s nothing natural about this! I have wings! And apparently ones that, I don’t know – signal mates or something! And they’re brown.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Stiles shrugs, wings curving in with the movement to emphasis it more, “I don’t know, it’s one of the million things I’m thinking about. About how my wings are brown of all things. Brown. Brown has to be one of the most boring colors _ever_. I mean if they were, y’know, white – that’s fine, that’s classic. Or jet black, that’d be bad ass! But brown…”

“What if they were pink?” Lydia asks in a sweetly teasing tone, “Or neon. Bright, glowing neon orange. Or chartreuse, maybe?”

“Isn’t that a vegetable?”

Lydia raises one skeptical eyebrow at him and he holds up his hands in surrender, “Just kidding. I know that’s a color. And yes, okay, it could have been worse; I’ll give you that but brown? Why brown?”

“They’re the same color as your eyes.” A deep voice says from behind them and Stiles startles at it. Lydia, however, is crystal cool as she looks at Derek, “The hero returns.”

Derek shoots her a look which she matches easily enough and Stiles feels like he’s being left out of something. He’s also feeling sort of intimidated in two very different ways. Lydia – smartest person in the room. Derek – strongest person in the room. Stiles – he doesn’t know which person in the room he is but it doesn’t beat the other two people. Not by a long shot. And, see, Stiles _does_ have good self-esteem. Sort of. Now and again. But it’s hard to have good self-esteem when he’s surrounded by, well…this…

And whoa, hang up, hold on a second! His mind flashes back quickly through what just happened and…did Derek say his wings are the color of his eyes? Stiles gently draws one of his wings close and inspects the feathers and they’re just…brown. Right?

Well, yeah, okay – his eyes _are_ brown. But so is his hair and he doesn’t see how there is any difference between the two but the way Derek said it…

He suddenly realizes that he’s missing out on important conversation as Lydia and Derek talk back and forth rapid fire.

“…so no luck then?”

Derek shakes his head, “They cleared out. Probably because of what happened the other night.”

“No idea where they might have gone?”

“I checked with the other vendors near where their stall was but they didn’t know anything. I did some extra digging, spoke with some of the officials - even broke into an office that had some paperwork but no dice. This was only a weekend event and the people planning it didn’t require too much information. I did find what I think was the father’s name – Nikolai Constantine and there was a phone number attached but it’s either been disconnected or was a false number to begin with.”

Lydia frowns, “Why the secrecy?”

“That’s just it; I don’t think it _is_ secrecy. I think they’re just transient and when the girl gave Stiles the necklace she didn’t know this would happen.”

“So I’m stuck this way?” Stiles’s arms and wings rear back in a minor flail, “What the hell am I supposed to do now? What am I going to tell my dad? ‘Hey, dad, just a head’s up, I’ve contracted Daffy Duck Disease’? I mean how long are we talking here? My whole life? What about college? I’m supposed to start looking at college applications and what college is going to accept me like this? Unless I’m their friggin’ mascot! Which colleges have birds for mascots, ‘cause I guess that’s where I’m headed!”

“Stiles, calm down! It won’t come to that. We will fix this.” Lydia says, then, with a slight grin adds, “And it wouldn’t be Daffy Duck Disease. If anything you have a truly severe case of the chicken pox.”

Stiles just gapes at her as she giggles and Derek – Stiles eyes nearly bulge out of his skull – Derek actually has a hand to his mouth and is he-? He is! He’s muffling a laugh! Derek-freakin’-Hale is _laughing_. Lydia got stone faced, sourwolf Derek Hale to _laugh_. And yes, he actually looks nice when he’s laughing. Much better, in fact, than he normally looks. He looks approachable and attractive and Stiles decides to completely ignore how he just thought of Derek Hale as ‘attractive’ and instead focus on how they’re both laughing at him!

He throws his hands up in defeat, “Oh yeah, that’s it! Laugh it up. It’s hilarious!”

Derek coughs several times but Stiles knows it’s just to stifle the laughter and he wishes he was strong enough to throttle him. However he changes his mind when Derek speaks and actually sounds the tiniest, teeniest bit contrite, “Lydia’s right. We still have options.”

“Speaking of, do you have the necklace?” Lydia asks Derek, one hand out expectantly and he hands it over. She looks at it critically, turning it this way and that, then pulls her phone out and takes a picture before handing it back to Derek, who returns it to the pocket of his jacket. Lydia looks at the picture thoughtfully, “Too bad she didn’t get you something from Tiffany’s. Still, if there’s one thing I know, its jewelry. Between this and the feather I have some work to do.”

“You’re going to do research?” Stiles asks incredulously and the glare she shoots him is enough to freeze him to the bone. Even his wings prick up and he quickly back peddles, “Not that I don’t think you can and don’t appreciate it if you do. ‘Cause I do. I so appreciate it. I appreciate it like appreciation’s never been appreciated before.”

Lydia keeps glaring, “Do you even know what you’re saying half the time?”

He blinks, “Not really, no.”

She then turns to Derek, “I question your taste.”

Derek’s eyes narrow and again Stiles doesn’t understand what’s happening. He wishes that would stop. Lydia puts her phone away and collects her bags, “Time for me to leave. I’ll let you both know when and if I uncover anything. Until then, Stiles, you should start thinking about where you’ll be staying.”

“Staying…?”

She eyes him benevolently, “You can’t hide from your father forever. However, your problem is not easily fixable. You need to arrange to stay somewhere else for a period of time. Maybe Derek can take you in.”

She now turns her gaze to Derek, who looks as if he’s going to rip her apart. But, seeing as she’s fearless, she merely gives him a honeyed smile, “You do have room at your loft, no?”

“Okay, that’s it,” Stiles pipes up, “What is happening? You two keep talking and…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lydia shakes her head at him sadly, “Or you could try Scott. Though from what I gather he is out of town. Maybe Isaac? Danny? I don’t know, I don’t care but I trust you’ll work it out. Until then…”

Her heels sound off like gunshots as she walks away and Stiles lets out a heavy breath, “Mystery, thy name is Lydia Martin.”

Derek looks at him and Stiles looks back and feels…sort of…odd. Like, his mouth is dry. So he swallows and looks away, “Uh…so, thanks again for helping.”

Derek gives him a curt nod and Stiles steels himself before asking, “Hey, Derek, do you…maybe…want to-I don’t know? Hang out?”

He can feel Derek looking at him but resolutely does not meet his eyes as he elaborates, “It’s just…I was thinking maybe we could like, watch a movie? Or television? Or talk? We could talk about whatever you want, you know, whatever interests you. Like cars or working out or I don’t really know what interests you but I chose those two things because you have a nice car and are ripped like whoa! Or we could talk about other things like how our lives are going or girls who’ve broken our hearts and yeah-no, no, no please, no. Just-just scratch that last one. Forget it. Don’t even know why I said that. It was stupid to say that but, yeah, the basic principle applies. Thought we could…haaaannng…”

The last word is dragged out of him because he can feel the tips of his ears burning and it’s SO awkward and he knows Derek is just shooting daggers at him with those laser point eyes of his. Seriously, it doesn’t matter if they’re their normal human shade or alpha werewolf red – they are like lasers and he swears he can feel them.

Best keep talking then.

“I mean, you don’t have to. We don’t have to. But, well, see, your helping me and that’s not something you have to do and I know you said I’m pack but I don’t always _feel_ like I’m pack. Also, come on, I know you can’t just creep around twenty four seven. You must have periods of time where you, you know, relax and watch television and I thought maybe we could do that together and that you didn’t have to do it alone but then maybe you don’t do it alone ‘cause I don’t really know you all that well and you might have super, secret buddies or maybe you do actually enjoy just creeping, which is cool, if that’s your thing but-”

“Stiles. Shut up.”

The words are said without hesitation and also (thank god) without any heat or malice so Stiles thankfully takes a deep breath, concluding with, “Awesome. Shutting up now.”

A silence settles between them and without Stiles non-stop ramblings it’s so, so, terribly quiet. Stiles isn’t sure if it’s a good quiet or a bad quiet and he finally risks looking at Derek. And then he wishes that he hadn’t because Derek is looking at him with yet another unidentifiable face. It’s not the dopey one, thank god, but it’s certainly never one he’s seen before.

It looks…almost…apprehensive.

And Stiles has never known Derek to be apprehensive.

He always seems to be so sure of himself. Assertive. In fact, he’s the captain of assertive. And aggressive. And then Stiles remembers how he also thought of him as attractive and he totally needs to stop thinking of ‘a’ lettered adjectives that fit Derek. Especially when ‘attractive’ is one of them because that opens up a whole uncomfortable can of worms he’s not ready to address because, yes, he’s not blind and he’s comfortable enough with himself to be able to admit when he finds a man attractive (see: Danny) but that doesn’t mean that recognizing a man is attractive also means you have any sexual feelings for them whatsoever and where did the sexual feelings part of this mind rant come from?

Stiles feels close to imploding mentally and scrubs two hands over his face, wishing this moment would just end. This is what he gets for listening to Lydia. She told him Derek was lonely, that she understood loneliness and, god, Stiles understands it too. Very well. Especially lately. And so this stupid idea had cropped up in his head and escaped his mouth before he could truly think it through.

Like most of his thoughts.

“Why?”

“Huh?” Stiles asks dumbly, Derek’s voice snapping him out of his reverie. 

“Why do you want to…?” Derek trails off as if he can’t even say the rest. As if it’s embarrassing. Or maybe that’s just how Stiles imagines it. Still, he bites his lips anxiously, eyes narrowing as he thinks of how to answer best. Finally he settles on, “Because it could be fun?”

Derek gives him a look that is closer to his normal expression – something sort of stormy – and Stiles clarifies, “Mean, you’re not-y’know-allergic to fun, right?”

“I’m not Scott.”

Stiles is confused at this statement, “I…didn’t say that you were?”

“I’m not going to be his replacement and I don’t need your pity.”

Stiles feels like he’s been slapped and it must show on his face, not that it matters, because he knows now he probably looks as angry as he feels, “That wasn’t what I-? You know what! Fine. Whatever! Go ahead and be a-”

Derek suddenly scrubs a hand through his hair and looks oddly vulnerable as he interrupts, “No, wait…wait…”

Stiles waits, even though he doesn’t want to, even though he wants to tell Derek exactly where he can get off. But somehow he holds his tongue. Probably because, amazingly, Derek does appear a little remorseful, “I’m…I…apologize.”

Stiles eyes widen, “You? _You_ apologize?”

Derek shoots him a look that says he won’t repeat that aloud as he continues, “I don’t have…the best people skills.”

Stiles scoffs, “Oh, really? You could have fooled me!”

And once more Derek is scowling at him and Stiles sighs, “Hey, no, look…let’s…not do this. Let’s not go round in circles, alright? Look, I don’t want you as a replacement for Scott. Okay? My dad’s working late, I don’t have anything going on and I can’t go anywhere with these feather monstrosities growing out of my back. So, if you’re not doing anything…”

Derek eyes him critically and when he next speaks his voice is surprisingly low, cautious, “I don’t…have to talk a lot, do I?”

“Oh, Derek,” Stiles tone of voice is close to consolatory, “Wow. No. I mean, were you not even listening the last couple of minutes? You should know me better than that by now! I’ll do _more_ than enough talking for the both of us. Come on, I’ll make popcorn; we can watch ‘Game Of Thrones’. Have you ever seen ‘Game Of Thrones’? You seem like a ‘Game Of Thrones’ kind of guy…”

Derek doesn’t answer but as Stiles walks towards the living room, Derek (amazingly) follows him. And Stiles can’t help but feel a little happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has taken a peek at this and left such kind comments! Much love to you! Also, feel free to stop by my tumblr (http://cellard00rs.tumblr.com/) if you'd like - that is a thing you could do! ;)


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